


Suitcase

by shadowolfhunter



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Gen, Nick/Sean in later chapters, if you squint a bit - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-12 10:56:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5663668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowolfhunter/pseuds/shadowolfhunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A maternal relative of the Captain's leaves Sean something in his will. The Captain takes possession (a very unfortunate term) of the Luggage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Abominable Action Of An Uncle.

**Author's Note:**

> Thought I would shake loose the current state of writer's block that has taken over my brain by committing to paper the thing that occurred to me the other night. I make no apologies for the fact that this came to me after mushroom soup and a couple of glasses of prosecco and Chambord.

“It. Ate. A. Siegbarste.” Nick enunciated carefully and clearly from the other side of the room. Under normal circumstances Nick and Hank would have taken the chairs on the other side of the Captain’s desk.

Even for Portland, the circumstances were hardly normal.

Sean Renard looked up from the file, and found his men watching him, while keeping a weather eye out for the latest disaster to befall the Captain’s existence and keeping the Captain’s chairs between themselves and the large wooden trunk on the other side of the Captain’s desk.

Sean sighed, following the abominable action of an uncle, he found himself in possession of the known universe’s most intractable travel accessory.

Uncle Pierre, his mother’s unreliable and frequently absent brother had died in circumstances that were distinctly murky and in his will he had bequeathed “to his favourite (ONLY) nephew” the Luggage.

Sean glanced down, the Luggage inched a little closer, under cover of checking his drawer for something (he really meant to do something about his drawers one day soon), he reached out a hand and patted its lid.

The Luggage managed to radiate well being, and an air of smugness. There was a vague rattling sound that might have been purring.

Burkhardt and Griffin shifted nervously, and Sean rolled his eyes. “If you leave it alone, it will leave you alone.” He waved the file in their direction, “now go, and create something that makes sense.”

Experienced detectives do not flee, he told himself, as for an undignified moment both men attempted to get out of his office door at the same time.

Sean sighed and there was a little thud, he reached out and patted it on the lid again. “Good boy.” He said.

The cloud of smugness grew a little larger, and the lid popped open. Sean glanced down, and blushed. The boxer briefs with the stripes and the blue anchors lay neatly pressed and smelling vaguely of lavender in the middle of the trunk. 

Sean just wondered what had happened to the siegbarste… and the two hundjagers that were lying in wait for him on his way home the night before.


	2. Child Protection Detail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Luggage proves to be useful in a strange way...

One month in and Sean had almost got used to the Luggage’s presence in his life. His month had been relatively quiet, by his standards, punctuated mostly by repairs and apologies. Repairs because the Luggage would literally smash holes in anything that came between it and its master (Sean), and apologies when the holes turned out to be in things that the owners would rather there weren’t holes in.

At the latest count, the Luggage had eaten one Siegbarste, four Hundjagers, a strange and runty little assassin by the name of Mort who had come to do away with Sean (really his family’s standards had to be slipping, the Luggage disposed of Mort with barely a burp) and a rather unpleasant collection of Wesen who were plotting to kill him and Nick and take over Portland.

There were six of them. Or rather there had been six of them before his homicidal suitcase had tucked in (as Nick had put it).

His men were finally coming around and being a whole lot less squirrelly about the Luggage. Wu had stopped slinking in and out of his office like a thief in the night, Griffin and Burkhardt had stopped hugging the wall and finally deigned to sit in the chairs opposite his desk.

All of this good work was almost undone when Adalind brought Diana and Kelly into the station.

Sean hid in his office.

Well, not hiding, more a strategic retreat, and then there was the need to go down to Central Filing (he had only just managed to train the Luggage not to follow him) and by the time he was on the way up he had almost forgotten that Adalind was there.

Which was why when she met him at the elevator with a slap that snapped his head round, wrenched painfully at his neck and left a glowing hand-print on his non-Zauber cheek, he was at a complete loss to understand why she was there and what he could possibly have done to upset her this time.

“Look!” Adalind stabbed a distinctly witchy looking finger in the general direction of his office, and Sean looked.

Apparently the Luggage liked Sean’s children… or was basically unable to distinguish between Diana who was his, and Kelly who wasn’t. It was actually quite endearing, Diana and Kelly, sitting on top of the Luggage while it trotted sedately around his office.

Apparently snapping at anyone who decided to come near.

The Luggage had clearly gotten to his brain, because after a lifetime’s careful diplomacy, and watching what he said to whom, Sean’s evil genius inspired him to say “Child Protection Detail!”  
Adalind’s shriek of annoyance was also pretty witchy, she didn’t woge, she growled.

By this time Sean’s slapped cheek was throbbing and he decided that shutting up and retrieving the children from their wooden babysitter might be a good thing.

He picked the children up. The luggage purred quietly to itself and snapped its lid a couple of times in farewell.

Adalind retrieved her daughter and son and stormed off in a perfect huff.

Sean lifted the back of his hand to his throbbing cheek and debated retrieving an icepack from the break room freezer.

“Good to know.”

Sean turns around, Nick is staring thoughtfully at the Luggage, and Sean nods, it is good to know that the Luggage will protect the children.


	3. Headache and Confusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sean's woge gets out of hand, and Nick makes a bizarre discovery.

He came to slowly, conscious that his head was killing him, opening his eyes was agony and there was a warm weight somewhere near his left hip.

“Sean.”

He wanted to beg the owner of the voice to refrain from bellowing at the top of their lungs, but recognized it was his own hearing that magnified the sound.

Everything really fuckin’ hurt. He rolled his head on the pillow, carefully, cleared his throat and croaked “what happened?”

Nick… he did at least recognize that it was Nick, said “we were arguing, and it got out of hand, and you woged. Completely. And then you passed out.” And he wants to point out that he’s only half-zauber, and therefore his woge is a patchy thing, not a full biest, but something about the surge that he remembers tells him whatever happened it wasn’t the woge he’s had for the last thirty years or so. It’s different.

His head is pounding like hell, and when he lifts an eyelid again, it feels like he’s being stabbed in the eye with a pitchfork. He closes the eye with something that sounds very like a whimper, and a very gentle hand strokes through his short-cropped curly black hair, and Sean does NOT want to lose that. It feels so good, even though his head is really hurting him, and there’s this soothing whisper and Sean works on dialing his senses back down low, because he absolutely needs the touch of Nick’s hand on his sore head.

There’s something else in the room, Sean can feel it, but it feels benign so he doesn’t move, just drifts with Nick’s hand stroking his head.

Apparently Zauberbiester can purr. At least that’s what Nick would call it, as Sean makes a sound of contentment and well-being, and Nick keeps up with the gentle stroking. He looks across to the other side of the bed, “I’m fairly certain it’s all your fault, you know. But…”

The Luggage shuffles its feet, but quietly, and since Nick’s tone is calm and not judgemental it pops its lid.

A small cloud of lavender permeates the room, and Nick stares in disbelief at the boxer shorts with the yellow ducks printed on them (his) lying chastely (and very neatly folded) next to the black silk shorts with the racy little purple pin-stripe (clearly the Captain’s, and why he’s calling Sean the Captain in these incredibly intimate circumstances makes no sense at all).

“Erm…”

The Luggage manages to look coy … and smug, and Nick tries to think why the Luggage clearly thinks that, and then gives it up as a bad idea, because now he’s trying to work out the inner mental workings of a homicidal suitcase and even in Nick’s world that’s a step too bizarre.


	4. Witching Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meisner meets the Luggage, Sean gets witchy and Nick gets knocked out.
> 
> The Luggage knows what to do.

Meisner eyed Renard in disbelief. He had accepted that Portland was a strange place, and his alliance with Renard was worth hanging on to, but this was a step too weird.

He knew exactly what Renard was, and, far as he knew, Renard had never manifested anything remotely magical, so when Nick was knocked cold, and Renard had scooped the unconscious Grimm into his arms, and suggested that Meisner come with him to save Nick’s life, Meisner had thought they were headed to the hospital.

That they wound up in a hut on the edge of the forest was strange, certainly, but Renard laid Nick on the bed, and headed into the kitchen where he picked out a small pot-bellied black pot, pulled out an old and battered book, flipped it open and started gathering dried ingredients it entered the realm of Meisner being certain that the Captain had finally lost the plot. That he was perhaps in need of an all expenses paid vacation and a nice hug-yourself jacket.

Meisner felt for Nick’s pulse, because Nick was grey and apparently had no pulse.

The cauldron (cooking pot… just a cooking pot) began to boil and Renard began talking in a foreign language, apparently reading from the book he had on the bench next to the stove.

Meisner was just getting used to the colours that began to swirl in the air above the pot, when there was an almighty crash and the sound of splintering wood accompanied by the tramping of many, many feet.

“As usual, your alacrity is appreciated…” Renard said in a firm tone of voice, “but I wish you would learn to use the door.”

Meisner was starting to believe he was the one in need of a vacation as he stares, round-eyed, at the box that had just crashed through the wall next to the front door.

It was large, brown and made out of some kind of wood. It settled next to Sean Renard, and it purred.

As the swirling colours speed up and dive back into the potion, Sean places what looks like a very old witch’s hat over the brew, and carries it over to Nick.

Some instinct of self-preservation makes Meisner keep Renard between him and the big trunk.

Sean sets the potion down on the bedside table, and smoke starts to leak out of the crown. As Nick is shrouded in smoke, Renard continues to read from the book.

The smoke clears, Nick moans, Renard leans over him, and something huge and unfriendly bursts through the door.  
Nick and Renard are out of reach, but Meisner is trapped between the wall and the door, and he’s got nowhere to go.

Meisner is tough, he’s fought any number of violent Wesen, but this is a siegbarste, and…

There’s a yelp and a SNAP! And the box is between Meisner and the siegbarste, and then the siegbarste has disappeared.

“Siegbarste.” Says Nick, in an incredibly (odd) calm tone that suggests that whatever the box just did (and Meisner runs the word “box” through his head a couple of times, because he really can’t quite believe…), in Portland, this is all perfectly natural.

Sean Renard comes around the other side of the bed and pats the box on the lid. A strange feeling of well-being permeates the air, and the box makes a sort of warm rattley noise again, which could be constituted as purring.

Meisner is confused, but the box just saved his life.

As he passes, he reaches out and pats it on the lid.

The lid pops up, and there’s a scent of lavender, inside the box are a pair of green check boxers, some very opulent red silk ones, and a pair of Meisner’s (black, cotton, practical).

Apparently if it saves your life it does your underwear laundry.

Good to know.


	5. Fir and Loathing In Portland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Adalind is not amused, Sean develops the desperate sales skills of a door-to-door brush salesman in the age of the vacuum cleaner, Wu is pleased and Nick is merciful.

SNAP!

Adalind freezes mid-brush. If that is what she thinks it is, she is going to kill her babies’ fathers, and then resurrect them so that she can kill them again… in some new and excruciating painful way that ensures that they suffer.

A lot.

SNAP!

Slowly she puts her hairbrush down on the dressing table and surreptitiously pushes the mirror so that she can see behind her without turning around.

Her son is sitting in the middle of the floor (Adalind isn’t exactly certain how Kelly keeps getting out of the playpen, especially as he’s only half-zauber and other than a sexy menacing growl, and some super-human strength, the other half-zauber Sean is not exactly noted for his witchy powers; but Adalind suspects Kelly’s half sister has something to do with it) and one of those black and tan carry-on bags is darting up to him on skittish legs. Kelly reaches out to grab the small leather-and-brass-strapped wooden box, and the box dances out of reach, snapping its lid a little provocatively. 

Normally failure on this level would prompt Kelly to burst into noisy tears, but from the intent look on his face, this is a game that he’s actually enjoying.

Adalind does not like the Luggage. The Luggage does not like her. Having one of the Luggage’s apparent progeny in the house fills Adalind with annoyance, foreboding and maybe even a little fear/envy.

The Luggage does Nick and Martin’s underwear. And their socks, which it manages to make into pairs, and despite her every attempt she can’t make pairs of socks. A wooden box is better at looking after her people than she is and that is just too irritating for words.

The Luggage eats Wesen. It adores Sean, and Adalind has no doubt would have no compunction in eating her (even if she is the mother of Sean’s daughter), and now the actual offspring of a homicidal suitcase is her infant son’s playmate.

NO. JUST NO!!!!

She reaches for her cell phone.

[][][][][]

Wu reaches into the plastic bag, and pulls out his last pair of socks.

A couple of years ago he would have assumed that he was having some sort of breakdown, but now, trunks with legs, people that turn into creatures… all part of Portland’s wonderful weirdness.

He looks around to check no one is watching, and slips the hand with the socks under his desk. There’s a small snap, and the socks leave his hand, and Wu straightens up, _nothing to see here folks_.

[][][][][]

Sean Renard relaxes into his chair with a slightly relieved sigh, the last few months have been odd and trying even by Portland, and his messed up life’s normal standards.

He gains the Luggage, spends two months getting used to the Luggage, and just as the repairs and apologies seem to be evening out a little, something new comes along which causes Sean to develop the desperate sales skills of a door-to-door brush salesman in the age of the vacuum cleaner!

Carry-on bags. Seven of them. Apparently the progeny of the Luggage, something about an unsuitable alliance with the magical motorbike panniers of the leader of a Hexen-Bike Gang.

Sean did not become a Portland Police Captain without developing some serious fortitude… and not a little guile. Five of them he managed to home amongst his men, Rosalee took one and the final one he persuaded Bud would be perfect for his tools.

Having passed this new plague successfully on to other people, he was free to collapse in his seat and mop his brow. Crisis averted.

Somewhere in the bullpen a cell rings. Something in the back of Sean’s mind suggests “danger”, he ignores it.

There’s a knock at his door.

Before Nick is fully through the door, Sean’s on his feet. “No… No take backs.” He tries to keep the desperate pleading tone out of his voice.

Given that Nick is looking supportive, sympathetic and just a teensy bit scared, he realizes that he failed in that endeavor.

“Adalind…” Nick trails off, briefly imagining what Sean is going to say about Adalind’s dislike of the Luggage.

“Kelly.” Says Sean and waves his hand. Nick sighs, Sean is right, Kelly loves their new ‘pet’.

“I’ll think of something,” Nick tries to imagine how he’s going to square this one with the Mother of His Son.

Sean heaves an inward sigh of relief, no take backs.

[][][][][]

Wu reaches under his desk and raps his knuckles on the lid.

There’s a strange little sound, a waft of lavender, and a pair of perfectly fresh, perfectly pressed and neatly darned socks land in his hand.

Wu smiles. He’s starting with Socks, they’re clean, fresh, darned and a PAIR. Better than his old washing machine. He can’t wait for the bag to grow up a bit and turn into the Captain’s Trunk, though he could definitely do with less eating of Wesen, and fewer holes in walls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With many thanks to Secoura for putting the carry-on bags in my head, and darksquirrel for the socks. I hope you enjoy this.
> 
> Whilst writing this I channelled A Cat Called Horse (Footrot Flats by the Wonderful Murray Ball), google it.
> 
> In fact, several books on Cats went into the making of this chapter.
> 
> The Captain may well be sweating a little again...


	6. Betrayal, Trust and The Luggage (Part The First)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sean and Nick are captured. The Luggage eats people and saves them.

It’s cold, he’s shivering in his shirt and pants, at least Nick has a sweater, but they’ve taken his jacket too. Not that this makes any difference to either of them.

They’re dangling by their bound wrists, tied so that their arms are bearing their weight, their bare toes (shoes and socks gone) are barely brushing the ground, just about enough to take the strain for a few minutes once in a while, but nowhere near enough to get leverage to think about freeing themselves. 

It hurts.

Sean’s wrists, elbows and shoulder joints are a fiery pain that keeps nudging him, and he can tell that there is something wrong with Nick’s left shoulder, the smaller man is clearly in a lot more pain than Sean is.

They’re gagged, foul-tasting cloth shoved in their mouths, knotted bandanas tied behind their heads holding the cloth in there. From Nick’s wheezing the gag is interfering with his breathing.

The only hope Sean is holding out right now is that his Luggage, his faithful, sagacious and deeply homicidal steamer trunk, is going to come charging through the door, a wall, anywhere… because the whoozy feeling is getting worse, he doesn’t want to think about how badly off Nick is, and neither of them has got very much longer.

It hurts like hell.

Maybe it’s unmanly, or un-royal, or whatever but he lets out a whimper as his body swings, his toes scrabble for purchase and something definitely tears in his right elbow.

[][][][][]

He wakes to voices, a loud crash, and screams.

Lots and lots of screaming. The wild trampling of hundreds of little feet, and lots of snapping noises.

The Luggage is doing what the Luggage does best, breaking down anything between it and its Master, terrifying people and eating the enemy.

He’s kinda in and out, because he knows he’s not actually about to be killed or dragged off somewhere, but finally he registers that there isn’t any more screaming, and something hefty and curiously warm is gently nudging his leg.

Very shakily he lifts his feet, the Luggage moves under him and he can take the strain off his arms for the first time in hours. Nick has roused enough to join him on top of the trunk.

Sean manages to get his bound hands into a position where he can untie Nick’s wrists. By some small miracle, Nick collapses against him, rather than falling off the Luggage.

They’re moving incredibly slowly now, as the pain begins to really bite. Nick frees his wrists, and they struggle to remove the gags with numbed fingers and strained arms.

Finally, they’re free, and stumbling out of the barn in which they were being held. They have no idea where they are and their coats and shoes are nowhere to be seen, the Luggage supports their very wobbly steps as they struggle away from their enemies’ stronghold.

[][][][][]

Sean can go no further, Nick is leaning into Sean, he’s obviously spent too, but the Luggage keeps them moving, up to a hut in the woods.

They stagger inside. Slumping down to the floor beside the Luggage, Sean falls against his trunk utterly incapable of being upright any more. Nick falls beside him and they both lean into the solid warmth of wood next to them.

[][][][][]

He wakes to unexpected comfort, the warmth and crackle of a fire. He’s in a bed, and Nick is right there next to him snuggled up close, and Sean is almost too embarrassed to take a peek under the covers, but somehow knows he’s wearing sleep pants, although he’s shirtless.

There are some very strange smelling bandages wrapped around Sean’s wrists, elbows and shoulder joints, and he can’t quite figure it out, but it feels kinda wonderful and it occurs to him that someone has taken care of them.

He turns his head, and recognizes the Luggage, and something smaller camped out right next to the Luggage.

It’s one of the carry-on bags, and from the feeling of well-being that’s permeating the air, Sean is pretty certain that is the bag that Rosalee took.

A minute later he’s proved right, as the door opens and Rosalee enters the room with a tray.

“Good, you’re awake.” She says, as the Luggage moves itself a little to let her in.

Very gingerly, without disturbing Nick, Sean eases himself up into a sitting position. “How…”

Rosalee passes him a mug with something warm and steamy in, urges him to drink, as she pulls a chair nearer. “The Luggage found you, and Prospero found the Luggage, and then Monroe and I managed to get you in the car and we brought you two back here.”

Sean makes a small gesture indicating his state of undress, Rosalee nods and smiles, “well the Luggage gave up two pairs of sleep pants, and we undressed you and Nick, we only have the one spare bed, but I felt you needed the shared bodily warmth.”

Sean looks at the bandages around his joints, “the Luggage gave me the recipe, and Prospero conjured the ingredients, and they’ve been guarding you ever since.”

Sitting up and drinking the tea has pretty much sapped Sean’s strength, Rosalee helps him lie down again. “Rest. Nothing is going to get past the Luggage.” She smiles fondly at Sean and Nick. Sean can’t help smiling back, Rosalee has proven herself a trustworthy ally, and with Sean’s family, and general luck, he needs all the help he can get. 

Nick snuffles and if anything gets a little closer. Cautiously, Sean wraps his left arm around Nick’s shoulders.

He’s vaguely aware that Rosalee is leaving the room, and there’s a quiet shuffling sound as the Luggage moves back against the bed, and its smaller sapling turns around and gets closer to them.

Sean reaches out his right hand, ignoring the twang of pain in his elbow and pats the Luggage’s lid.

A cloud of lavender wafts through the air as Sean falls back to sleep. Safe.


	7. Betrayal, Trust and The Luggage (Part The Second)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sean needs to rest, the Luggage is not above being sneaky to make sure he does.

“I’m perfectly fine, thank you.” Sean keeps his tone conciliatory, with just enough distance in it to be polite but keep everyone at arm’s length. Something he’s been doing since he was a teenager.

“Sean, you’ve been tortured, kept hanging like a side of beef for over a day, you need to rest, let your body heal.” Rosalee’s tone is gentle, and Sean’s soul has been longing for someone to care like that for decades. He nearly panics, unused to anyone actually caring for him.

“I’m fine.” He insists, resisting the urge to raise his voice.

Rosalee shakes her head, but says nothing, she doesn’t even appeal to Nick, who she is very well aware is awake, but is keeping schtum for reasons of his own.

The Luggage inches closer, Rosalee moves away reluctantly, Sean sits, thinking he’s got his own way.

The Luggage pops its lid, there’s warmth, a waft of lavender then Sean’s eyes roll up in his head and he subsides into a boneless heap on the bed.

Rosalee directs a glare at the trunk. “That wasn’t very nice.”

The Luggage shrugs. Master is hurting and tired, he needs rest, it’s up to the Luggage to make sure he gets it. Through fair means or foul. The Luggage is in no way opposed to being sneaky for Master’s own good.

Nick eases himself into a sitting position and pulls the covers back as Rosalee struggles with 6’4” of unconscious Captain.

Sean slumps onto his side, and Nick slides a cautious arm around his boss. Whatever Sean Renard’s intentions over the last four years, he has protected and helped Nick, and Nick has tried very hard to maintain the distance between them. Now Sean’s tired, sore and needs his rest, perhaps Nick should man up and admit that he feels something for his half-zauberbiest boss.

The Luggage gives a little wiggle of contentment and settles by its Master’s side. Master is probably going to be pissed with it, but the Luggage has to protect its Master.

It settles and considers the other man, perhaps it ought to protect the object of its Master’s affection too (not that Master or Human is quite ready to admit that they have feelings for each other… strange creatures these squishy things). The human is not quite human, well that’s okay, its Master’s definitely not quite human either.

The Luggage ponders the conundrum, on guard.


	8. It's Cold Outside, but It's Warm In Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Major thunderstorm...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy nonsense. Lots and lots and lots of fluffy nonsense.

It’s raining outside, which should come as no surprise because (after all) this is Portland, but the severity of the storm is something else.

Sean can feel it.

He goes around the house, making sure all the windows and doors are fastened, thinking that he really should have got shutters, but this is Portland, the Pacific-Northwest, not Miami or the East Coast, and he really shouldn’t be that concerned.

But he is.

It’s not all that late, but it is completely dark outside and besides there is a nice warm bed, and a nice hot…

“Sean!”

“Coming!”

He gives a last check to the front door and ascends the stairs.

“Children OK?” He pauses in the doorway to their bedroom and leans against the door frame, to better appreciate the view.

“Children are just fine.” Nick’s smile is a come-hither look that tugs hard on Sean’s libido.

“Luggage? Portmanteau?”

Nick rolls his eyes. “We leave the door open, okay?!”

They have learnt that closing the door only encourages the Luggage to smash through it. Sean is very tired of replacing doors.

Nick would never say so, but the fact that Sean Renard has a magical steamer-trunk that loves him and follows him about like a puppy is completely hilarious.

At least he thought so until Sean gave him a small carry-on ‘bag’ one of the Luggage’s saplings. The holes were smaller, but still present, and apparently Luggage and Luggage’s sprouts love Zauberbiester… Nick’s son being the natural recipient of the Carry-On’s protection.

The Carry-On is now large enough to be called a Portmanteau, and Kelly hates being separated from it just as much as it won’t be separated from him.

Nick feasts his eyes on his husband lounging oh-so-casually in the doorway, and thanks his lucky stars, and the Luggage’s impossible intervention, for the wonderful and eccentric twist his life has now taken.

The matchmaking skills of a homicidal suitcase lack subtlety, but the outcome has some major benefits.

Sean walks slowly towards the bed, reveling in the look in his husband’s eyes. Six months ago he would have laughed if anyone had even suggested that he, Sean Renard, hitherto almost terminally unlucky in love would find his forever love in the young Grimm, his junior detective.

Almost unconsciously, his thumb goes to the ring finger of his left hand, and he rubs his wedding ring (he’s still getting used to it, it’s only been on there three weeks), a feeling of warmth and well-being spreads through his soul as Nick slides over, lifting the corner of the quilt with a sly smile.

Sean growls, and swoops.

[][][][][]

It’s gone midnight, they’re satiated, warm and comfortable, and the weather outside can do whatever it damn likes.

Sean’s drifting a little, watching the occasional flashes of lightning that backlight the curtains and smiling because he really can’t quite believe he’s got this lucky, and there’s a thump. Little feet. Thump, thump, thump, a pair of little arms appear in his peripheral vision, and Sean rolls to see his little step-son standing by their bed.

Kelly’s big blue eyes (so like his father’s) are round with fright, just as Sean’s about to ask how Kelly got out of his crib, there’s a very big flash, and a clap of thunder and Kelly squeaks in fright, and his little arms wave in desperate plea, then Sean is reaching out to scoop the frightened boy into his arms, and rolling again as Kelly burrows in close.

Beside him Nick mutters sleepily, then his arm is curving around his boy, and he’s cuddling closer to Sean.

“Ssssshhhhh.” Sean huffs a soft hiss as he cradles Kelly, and by extention, Nick, close against his body.

The storm must be right overhead, because the flashes and bangs are very close together now, and Sean is concentrating so hard on the baby in his arms, and the warmth of his husband’s body pressed close he almost misses, another loud bang, little feet, quite a bit steadier and faster than Kelly’s.

“Diana?”

“Daddy… can I sleep with you?” And Nick lifts the covers, inviting Sean’s daughter into their bed.

Diana dives between Nick and Sean with her unicorn. She’s trying far too hard to be nonchalant about it, but burrows into Nick with a squeak as there’s a huge flash and a bang almost simultaneously.

The two men cuddle into each other, reassuring their scared offspring cuddled between them.

[][][][][]

Sean wakes slowly. The storm seemed to rage for hours, and the children tried to tough it out, he has no idea when he fell asleep, but he feels ever so slightly trapped.

Nick is lying on Sean’s right arm, his head pillowed on Sean’s shoulder, Diana and Kelly are hanging on to each other, cradled against Nick and Sean’s chests by Nick’s free arm, there’s a solid weight against the bed, and something is behind Sean’s bent knees. He can’t move or straighten his legs and it’s getting rather uncomfortable.

He raises his head and squints down the bed.

“NO… OFF!” he can’t even wave an arm, the quilt is trapped behind him and his left arm is pinned, his right full of husband and children.

There’s a little thump from next to the bed, and Sean really wants to glare at the Luggage. “Get down,” he hisses angrily at the Portmanteau, “NOT ON THE BED.” He growls at the Luggage’s offspring.

The Portmanteau shuffles its feet a bit. “OFF.” Sean’s growl is menacing, and he jerks his head a little, indicating that the Carry-On should leave now or else.

The Portmanteau makes a squeaking sound that resembles a particularly pathetic whimper, and reluctantly jumps off the bed.

Sean straightens his legs out with a groan, it’s not the years, it’s the mileage, and Sean’s body feels particularly high mileage today. The rest of him feels like home. He slides his freed left arm out from under the quilt and wraps around Nick and the children, pulling all three of them closer.

He closes his eyes and falls back to sleep, smiling.


End file.
